Strings of Fate
by RadicalRae
Summary: Death reaps a soul, only to be stopped by the light of the moon and Fate intervening; a life becomes immortal, and thus, Jack Frost was reborn. / Might be added to later. I own nothing.
1. Chapter 1

Death isn't always violent or loud, more often it is quiet and lurks in the night like a starving cat, always watchful of the dying and the long dead. Often times, Death steals the old and young away with a blur of darkness, a shadow without shape or form.

He glides without sound through the seemingly peaceful forest, only the faint moonlight lighting his destined path. His abnormally thin frame tilts as he peers past the thick trunk of a birch tree, pale gaze settling on a frozen lake. Really, it's more of a pond than a lake, but he wasn't here to point that out. No, he was here for the frail soul in need of a reaping.

Death stepped forward, black trench coat dragging in the light snowfall. The boy had died sometime during the day, but an earthquake elsewhere had delayed the soul reaping process, and he whispered an apology to the dead body trapped beneath the ice.

Turning his gaze towards the fragile string of silver - one which only he could see, the very life span of a human - and swung his scythe back. The wickedly sharp blade glinted in the dim lighting, a looming threat of injury, a trademark tool for the old spirit.

He swung the blade forward, holding his breath to hear that fateful _snap_ of the miniscule string - his scythe bounced off the string. For a moment, he stared, dumbfounded, as the silver gave way to gold and then blue. Lord Death chuckled, sliding back into the shadows, where the newly born winter spirit wouldn't see him. He watched the boy run along the clearing and over the pond, spreading delightful frost designs over everything he touched.

The wind caught him, finally, and blew him upwards and towards a distant town.

Death grinned, letting out a cold, devilish laugh as he waggled a long finger at the shimmering moon far above him.

"Well well my old friend, I wonder what you have in mind for the boy, although we both know - Fate has never been wrong about her prophecies before."

He looked to the shape flying with the wind, followed by a flurry of snowflakes.

" _Good luck Jack Frost."_


	2. Conversing with Death

Death was incapable of being discriminating towards any mortal creature. Everything had to die sooner or later, and no one could escape their fate, not unless the Man in the Moon decided to make them a spirit of some kind. Fortunately, that rarely ever happened, which made him happy. He hated adding nicks to his precious scythe.

Hospitals were like a second home to him, a place that smelled of antiseptic and disease and the dead. He stepped lightly onto the roof of one such hospital, somewhere in France, close to Paris probably. He could almost see the Eiffel tower from where he stood.

Death sighed, mindful of the delicate silver strings around him as he paced the length of the roof. He could _feel_ his old friend glaring down at him, but what could he do to reassure the guy? He couldn't stop anyone from dying, only quicken the process and occasionally bring peace to the fading soul.

"I can't keep children from dying, you and I both know that." He leaned his scythe across his shoulders, using his free hand to rake his hair back from his eyes. "Every winter someone dies, and I can't just _stop_ doing my job for the sake of one winter spirit."

The moon, as per usual, had no answer for the old spirit.

Frustrated with both himself and the moon and _the world_ itself, he fell back into the shadows that surrounded him and fled back to his cave, back to cool darkness he knew was home to everything he was and would ever be.

Summoning his outlook on the world with a touch of bony fingers to a grand mirror, he peered through the glassy surface at a decently happy Jack Frost, blatantly ignoring the fact he couldn't be seen as he played with a group of human children. Death smiled, seated in his throne of bones, scythe balanced across his knees.

He couldn't keep children from dying, but he could keep this horribly naive child from realising what his beloved winter powers did to those without warmth or shelter. He just needed to keep it up for another century.

Hopefully no one would catch on. He had a rep to maintain, after all. He was _not_ going soft, and he would ignore anyone else that says otherwise. Because as much as he coddled the still young Jack Frost (from a distance) he was still the king of the undead, the dying, and the long decayed, and he was _terrifying._

 _...you collect crystals and whisper to troubled souls. Not exactly terrifying..._

"No one was asking _you_!" He snarled, glaring angrily at the opening that allowed moonlight to filter in, sinking further into his throne to escape the unwanted light and attention the Man in the Moon was giving him. He was not going soft dammit.

 _You shouldn't talk to yourself._

"Don't make me come up there and beat you with my scythe."

 _That's mature._

"I'm serious. I've killed people for less."

 _Alright, alright. I'm gone._

Lord Death huffed in irritation, running his fingers along the edge of his scythe, grumbling unhappily. The mirror showing Jack Frost rippled, and the surface became clear once more, now only reflecting his own haunted face back at him.

For once, he actually regretted pushing the other away. Loneliness could kill.


	3. Chipped Blade

It was fifty years too early for him to be meeting Jack Frost while not in the protection of his beloved shadows, and even the darkness of the nearby shade seemed to writhe in nervous worry for the old spirit. A child - a young girl, maybe seven or eight years old - had drowned in the pond, the very one the winter spirit had died in. Jack had pulled her out of the icy waters, but the damage had been done.

He wished his arrival had been delayed by a natural disaster or another war, but there was no good reason to leave the girl's soul here, where any number of things could happen to it. He'd have to reap it now, or risk the destruction of an innocent soul.

He swung his scythe back, taking only a single heartbeat before he brought the blade around to cut through the silver string with a delicate _snap_ of a soul collected and sheltered with Death.

Jack flinched back, gasping before he tried to shield the body from the black clad spirit.

"Don't hurt her! G-Get away!" The winter spirit brandished his staff, pointing the hooked end in a threat at the other, who's scythe was still outstretched from the reaping. "I-I said get a-away!"

"She's dead boy. There's no saving her, the wolves own her body now." Seeing the shocked and horrified look go over the boy's features, Death sighed and knelt down, leaning his scythe over his shoulder, the sinister blade looming over the two spirits like a silent, wicked threat. "I've already sent her soul to whatever afterlife she believed in. I believe she's with her mother's soul now."

"I...I can't do anything for her?" Jack Frost seemed to relax, if only slightly.

"Well, no. You've done all you can already, all we can do now is move away from this spot and allow nature to proceed."

"What about...what about the wolves?" The winter spirit glanced at the trees around them, gripping his staff tightly while the wind gently tugged at his hair and clothes. "I can't just...leave her all alone."

"The wolves are a part of nature." Death could see that his words weren't having a very comforting effect. He supposed his appearance didn't help much either, everything considered. He sighed, shifting closer and placing a chilled hand against the boy's shoulder. "Don't worry about it; the girl won't know what happens now. Her soul is elsewhere and happy, and she knows you tried to help."

"She...knows?"

"The dead believe in everything." Death stood, smoothing down the front of his leather coat and brushing snow from the black material of his pants. "I've heard the south pole is lovely this time of year. You should go, get some rest before winter gets into full swing."

He slipped into the shadows, not waiting for a reply from the boy. He glanced back once, smiling upon seeing Jack taking his advice and letting the wind finally take him away from the frozen corpse. The young spirit had a soul of innocence, and he dearly hoped that he would never have to reap it.

Collecting the souls of a fellow immortal spirit was not a pleasant event, and Jack Frost already had a chip in Death's blade.

"Heh, he's a chip off the old scythe, isn't he, old friend?"

The moon shined brighter, as if sharing his rather morbid amusement.


	4. A Simple Threat

There were many spirits that would kill for Death's job, for a chance at the power and might he alone wielded. The challenges he received were tiresome, and he cursed those that were so power hungry they'd dare attempt to take _his_ place as the undead king. Each and every time he sent away another defeated challenger, he became more and more tired.

Tired of the world's problem, tired of all the souls he was forced to reap, tired of the dead he was surrounded with and the darkness that, once, was home to him.

Only a few things brought him joy anymore. A healthy child, a quiet day with few souls to reap, the company of his calm, cheerful counterpart, and the laughter of a close friend. His job kept him from seeing healthy children, there was always some sort of natural disaster or war, Lady Life was never around, and he had no friends to speak of.

Lord Death sighed and stood from his bony throne. His mirror would show him nothing he already knew, and the shadows of his lair no longer felt welcoming to his weary mind. He stepped through the shadows, let them wrap around his body and yank him from his cool lair and into the mostly warm air of California.

The wrecked car had yet to be discovered, and the sight of the mangled bodies sent an uncomfortable churning through his stomach. He hated this part of the job most; the corpses.

Still, the souls had to be reaped, no matter how he felt. Moving closer to the bodies, and to the soul strings, Death avoided stepping in any of the pools of blood or crushed glass. His scythe swung back, and with one powerful swing, he struck all five of the souls, feeling the familiar cold of the dead being collected rush through his head.

Instead of returning to his lair, he turned away from the wreck and started walking along the dusty road, scythe leaning across his shoulders, as per usual. He should return, he should place the collected souls in their respectful afterlife, he had other places to go before the sun was down. He really didn't want to though, he _ached_ for a day off, to be able to relax and hide away from the world, to focus on himself; he wanted, for just one day, to be selfish.

"Ya really shouldn't talk to yourself. It's a sign of bad health."

"I am not in the mood Bunnymund. Unlike you and your...eggs...I have an _important_ job to do. Why don't you go hop down a hole?" He kept walking right past the Easter spirit, phasing right through the bunny's outstretched paw. "Isn't it Easter today anyway?"

He could feel the disapproving glare the Guardian was directing at him, but he found he _still_ didn't care that the silly bunny, or any of the others, disapproved of what he did, of what he'd been made to do.

"Tomorrow's Easter, and you just killed an entire family. All three of those kids believed in me, y' know."

"No. I don't." Death turned on his heels, swinging his scythe around it to trap Bunnymund between wicked blade and a furious undead king. "You seem to forget that no one can see me, no matter how much they might believe. You guardians may hate us neutral spirits, but most of us have been around longer than your _guardians_. We are not believed in; we simply exist, and the humans will never see us. My job is not to interfere, or kill and murder like you seem to believe, it is to take the souls of the dead and give them peace before they move on. Once a child becomes an adult, you guardians abandon them."

He let go of the bunny, brushing fur from the blade of his scythe with obvious disdain.

"You should return to your work now. Let me, and every other spirit, _do their job._ That includes the winter spirit you enjoy thrashing so much."

Bunnymund seemed to flinch at the subtle accusation, and opened his mouth to defend himself and his actions. Death beat him to it.

"That blizzard was an accident caused by his over active emotions, and we both know that. You simply don't like him; there's so much more to him than you know." A smile caught thin lips, tugging the corners upwards. "Twenty years. I'll give you twenty years to be kinder to him, or I will not hesitate to toss you into the pit of the damned. I'll be watching."

Lord Death slipped into the shadows before the Guardian could reply, back into his significantly colder lair. There was first on the walls, and someone had blown the fireplace out, and a small form was huddled on his throne. Death simply tucked a blanket around the sleeping Jack Frost, and gave the moon a scathing glare.

The boy had so much more to learn, but so did those bumbling idiots that claimed to be guardians of the children.


	5. Death, at a Party

Lord Death and Lady Life were nothing alike, both physically and personality wise, even though their jobs were so closely entwined.

Lady Life was a cheerful, loving, adoring spirit, she forgave all who might wrong her, and never seemed to have a single word of hate or spite. She adored the children of the world, and often disguised herself to be able to walk among them, if only so she could see the very souls she worked so hard to spin out to good use. She was kind, and her arms always open to those in need of her wisdom and generosity.

Lord Death was spiteful, weary, and all around suspicious of anyone, living or otherwise. He let very little people into his life, and lived in complete, utter shadow. He avoided any contact with humans, children and adult, as much as he possibly could. He snarled at other spirits when they got too close to his lair, and more than often slammed the door shut in their face. His job weighed heavily down on him, and he would most likely be diagnosed as depressed if he was a normal mortal human.

Lady Life was beautiful, with her long snow white hair, her green eyes, flecked with Autumn colors, her darkly tanned skin and delicate stature. She always dressed in flowing white and blue dresses, green silk ribbons in her hair and garnet necklace hanging from her long neck. She wore a single emerald ring on her right hand, on her middle finger. She was the picture of grace and elegance, a warm and welcoming presence anywhere.

Lord Death towered over most anyone, he was abnormally, _disturbingly_ thin, like the skeleton he was personified as so much. His hair was a flat slate grey, with minor hints of blue in the wild, unkempt locks, and his eyes were pale, switching drastically from blue to grey, and almost completely lifeless. He wore drab black or dark grey clothes, a heavy black chain around his neck, from which a cross hung, had heavy black boots with steel toes, and always carried his wicked scythe, forged from the bones of an ancient beast and blade sharpened from the edge of a thousand damned souls. He also, when he had the time, painted his nails either black or a dark blood red, and sometimes a lovely shade of green when he truly missed having company.

No, they were nothing alike, and yet Death couldn't help but crave Lady Life's company, selfishly wishing to spend any given amount of time with his counterpart.

He also hated parties, and _she_ loved them. He watched her sweep across the floor, graciously greeting other, overly dressed spirits, green eyes lighting up and mouth turned up into a bright smile. She glanced his way and lifted a hand in a jovial wave, and he forced himself to return it halfheartedly.

He'd put himself in a corner, far away from anyone else. Not that anyone else was attempting to come towards him, most of the spirits here avoided him like he was Pitch Black, or Misery.

Speaking of them, Misery had just slid into the seat besides him.

"I apologize..." the dreadful creature that was despair embodied wheezed out, soft voice a high pitch keen. "No one bothers you, and I was feeling crowded; you're an oasis compared to everything else here."

Death blinked, surprised that _anyone_ thought him to be peaceful or welcoming. This pitiful spirit before him was tiny, more or less a scrap of dark grey fabric and glowing red eyes, and they were positively _trembling,_ with either shot nerves or fear, he couldn't tell.

There was one thing Death and Life had in common; comforting another came at least somewhat naturally.

"It's not a bother at all. I'm glad to provide shelter to another being that lives in the shadows." At this, Misery seemed to relax, and slumped down in their chair, narrow shoulders slumping down. They glanced up, eyes weary.

"You know, you and Life and a lot alike."

"What? No, we're not." Death laughed, shaking his head at such a silly thought. "I mean...just look at her. How are we anything alike?"

"You're both...very kind. And you've got this... _look_. When someone is in trouble...you both look like you _need_ to help."

This was...a surprising turnabout of the night. It was refreshing though, seeing, knowing that someone thought of him as a helpful person.

"...I...I can't say I truly am those things, but...thank you." A beat passed, and Lord Death reached across the space between them to lay a chilled hand on Misery's back, giving the frail spirit a warm smile, one that lit up the deeper blue of his eyes. "You can always seek me out if you need a respite. My door is open, even if it doesn't seem like it. I...I know its not easy to get along with me, trust me - I've tried."

Misery giggled at that, and their eyes glowed in a way that mimicked a smile. They settled more comfortably into their seat, as if Death's words has soothed their nerves.

Later that night, he escorted the tiny spirit (seriously, they were like five feet tall, what the hell?) back to their corner of the world, and he retreated into his. There he found frost on the walls and a grinning frost child sitting on the back of his throne.

Death thought back to what he'd said to Misery, and couldn't help but think...it was one thing he and Life had in common. They were great at comfort, and their door was always open, even when it was shut.

Her's was open to the light however. And his the dark.

They were complete opposites, but at the same time, they were similar. He supposed that was a good thing, sometimes.


	6. The Deal with the Devil

**Well well, hello there. Decided to make Death, Life, and Misery's heights official for this little story.**

 **Death - 6 foot 11 inches**

 **Life - 6 foot 3 inches**

 **Misery - 4 foot 10 inches - tends to fluctuate with the amount of despair in the world.**

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It had taken Jack nearly four years to get Death and Misery to come and meet the guardians. Neither dark spirit were very keen on the idea of meeting up with the four "top dogs" of the spirit realm. It didn't help that Death had never gotten along with any of them except for Sandy (the only reason for that was that the dream weaver _knew_ how the king of the dead felt about his own job), and the fact that he'd fought with Bunnymund many times since the Easter bunny had sprung up.

Or that Misery had been at the bad side of Bunnymund's temper before. Who in their right mind would beat on a tiny spirit barely half their size?!

The moment they had stepped inside Nicholas ( _North)_ had started talking that obnoxiously loud voice, and Misery had immediately started trembling, tiny, fragile hands grasping tightly to Death's cloak. The fragile spirit wouldn't leave the elder being's side, no matter how much Jack coaxed them.

The dark king only sighed and retreated to a far away corner of the room, away from the guardians, to comfort his small companion and sooth their fears. He'd just gotten the delicate creature into a semi-relaxed stage when someone tapped on his shoulder. He turned to find Toothania staring down at him, wings a blur as she hovered in the air.

"So...you can see the souls of children?" The fairy seemed to be scared of him, if how she backed up was anything to go by. Death sighed, glad that Misery was on his other side, away from the flight capable guardian. He would at least humor her and answer her questions.

"I can see the soul of any living being, like how you can see the loss of a tooth."

"You can see... _our_ souls too?"

"Yes, but your souls are immortal, so don't worry about me killing any of you off. As much as I'd like to..."

 _"Death!"_ the two spirits turned to stare in surprise at Jack, before Death scoffed and waved his hand at Tooth in a sort of half attempted goodbye.

"This was fun, really, but I have a round the clock job to do, as does Misery. We should get going." He turned to going, tucking Misery close to his side in preparation for traveling; he always had a fear that he'd drop the other spirit while zipping through the shadows. Nicholas stopped them from leaving by throwing a tattooed arm around Death's shoulders, an unnerving smile aimed at the tall spirit.

"Nonsense! You take break with us and stay for feast!" Death _almost_ entertained the thought of cutting off the jolly man's arm with his scythe before he caught sight of Jack's hopeful face, and then he let out a defeated sigh. Nicholas took this as a yes and guided (more like drug them) out of the room and into a large dining room, the others trailing after.

And, of course, Nicholas would push Death in the seat right next to Bunnymund and Tooth, with Misery and Sandy on his other side. The king leaned his scythe on the back of his chair, the wicked blade glowing like some sort of nightmarish chandelier over the grand table.

"Let us welcome our new friends with joy!" Nicholas raised his glass, somehow already filled with eggnog (Death shuddered at the thought of the overly sugary drink, and desperately hoped that "Santa claus" had wine stored somewhere), and the others copied the motion, except for Misery and Death.

The elves brought out food and laid it down on the table with the yeti's help, and soon an enormous amount was on the table. Seeing a yeti bringing out different beverages, Death immediately hailed to them. At least Nicholas had a good taste when it came to good wine, the king thought as he gratefully sipped the deep red liquid.

Next to him, Bunnymund had more or less hoarded a pile of vegetables and was chowing down, and Tooth had gotten a salad for herself, along with a glass of water. He didn't want to know what Nicholas was eating, or how much, so he turned his pale gaze over to Misery. The fragile spirit seemed to be having a timid conversation with Sandy while picking at a small plate of food, and Jack was leaning across the table to join in.

Lord Death glanced over at the other person he had been forced to sit next to. Bunnymund was glaring at him now, eyes sharp and hatred clearly there.

"I'm gonna say it right now mate, I don't like you."

"Oh, that's a relief. I was worried perhaps that you had mistaken my dislike of you as something else." Death finished off his glass of wine in a single swallow, glad that being dead meant that alcohol didn't effect him.

"But Jack likes ya."

"Yes, I'd imagine he does. After all, it seems I was the only one that didn't ignore him for three hundred years, or berate him, scream at him, call him dreadful names..."

"Look, I know what I did was wrong." Death glanced around the table, catching Misery's worried gaze before he turned back to look down at the rabbit, signalling for him to go on.

"I should never have done those things ta Jack, and I can't change the past, but...but I can do something to fix the future, and maybe make up for my actions. I don't like you...but I sure like havin' Jack around, so we're gonna make this work, ya oversized Halloween decoration, or we'll both end up on the losing side." Finished, he stuck his furry law out and waited, hope slowly crumbling with every second that passed without a reply from the elder spirit.

"People will die, I cannot stop that. I know that we can never get along. You're whole purpose is about life, and mine sis about the dead, the dying, and the undead. We have never gotten along before..." Death glanced at Jack, who had stopped talking to Sand and Misery to watch Bunnymund and the king. "I have never liked you, _Aster,_ and I doubt I ever will. But for Jack, I suppose I can try. After all, you can't hurt what's already dead."

With that, a bony hand grasped the law still extended towards him, and the two spirits shook on it. They'd try, for Jack, because the winter spirit had wriggled his way into their hearts (one unbeating, and the other beating too fast), and at least one of them would murder for him.

"Does this mean we have to come here more often? It's too bright..." Death glanced down at Misery, and couldn't help but laugh at the tiny spirit's disapproving look.

"I agree, it's far too bright here Nicholas. We should turn off the lights."

Which, of course, is exactly what the two dark creatures did, both snickering as everyone but Jack and Sandy (he was sure Jack was laughing) started screaming and Bunnymund hit the king and called him a "bloody showpony"...whatever _that_ meant.

"Perhaps this wasn't such a bad idea. I've never heard dear old Nicholas scream like a five year old girl." Yep, Jack was definitely laughing, and Tooth had joined in with her little giggles and both Nicholas and Bunnymund fumed and yelled at Death while Misery hid behind Sandy, who'd fallen asleep sometime during the dinner.


	7. A Moment of Silence for the Dead

**A tribute to the shooting at Orlando, my heart goes out to those people and their families.**

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It wasn't the first time, it wouldn't be the last time, but the mass shooting in Orlando hit Death, and it hit him hard.

So many lives over, so many souls suddenly _gone_ and _dead._ Death fell to his knees, scythe clattering to the cold stone uselessly. He was unresponsive to both Misery's sympathy and Jack's concern. He managed to choke out what had just occurred, and Misery was gone, presumably to go do their job, while Jack stayed where he was, hands clinging to Death's thin arm.

It only took a few minutes, although if felt like hours, before Death picked up his scythe with a shaky hand and stood up, pale eyes hazy and unfocused. The loss of life weighed heavily down on him, and couple with a tsunami somewhere in the pacific, had taken him down in an unguarded moment.

"Do not expect me back until late. You and Misery are welcome to stay as long as you want, but, _Jack._..."

The winter spirit straightened up, staff in hand. Whatever Death had to say was bound to be important.

"Check in with the guardians, and then go check on Lady Life for me. I am not sure if I can find the time for her right now."

Jack was nodding and say of course he'd go check with everyone, but the elder spirit was already gone, the shadows rippling with his hasty exit. He stood there for a long time, simply trying to remember how to breath and call the wind. By the time he got to the guardians they were already grieving for the lost lives, and he joined them silently.

The lost souls had been collected, the survivors each stable and likely to go on, and the humans were throwing the blame around, unwilling to call this _massacre_ a hate crime. Death stood on the roof of a building just across from the unfortunate club.

"There's a lot of fear all over the world tonight."

"I'm sure you love it."

"If I am to be honest with you..." Pitch Black sighed, turning to look up at the taller spirit, watching those wild, sad eyes rip away from the scene of the shooting to look at the fallen nightmare king. "I don't enjoy this type of fear. It's an all consuming kind, the life fearing kind. Everyday fear is to be learned from, something use when in danger, but _this_ kind of fear?"

They looked down from their rooftop location at the crowd slowly thinning below them, their fears almost tangible in the warm air.

"This is the kind of fear that destroys and corrupts and spreads like a fire that has no intention of fading out. The world is full of hatred, and this sort of fear will only fuel it even further. This...it's not... _This is never what I wanted._ "

Pitch let those words hang between them until the sun started to go down, and then he placed a hand on the older spirit's arm, gave him a sad, apologetic smile, and disappeared into his shadows to whoever knows where.

Lord Death returned to his own lair to place all of the souls - both from the shooting and from the natural disaster - into their respectful afterlife, whispering to each of the troubled ones and soothing the fears that clung stubbornly to the souls. This was natural, as such an abrupt and unplanned end always resulted in a soul that if not properly and correctly collected would turn into a vengeful creature that would haunt that one place or person.

Next he went about and saw to it to give each of the families that lost a life some comfort, using his rarely used powers to twist their souls and give each of them one last glimpse of their loved ones in a calm and happy dream.

And then the dark spirit slid into the North Pole, dropped his scythe to one side, kneeled down between Bunnymund and Jack, and joined in with their silent vigil for the lost. When they were joined by Lady Life and a handful of her sprites, she and Death embraced, and they didn't let go of the other until they had completed a three hour vigil for the human beings murdered and killed that day.

And if anyone noticed Pitch Black showing up and dropping Misery into the mix, no one mentioned it.

Afterwards, they all agreed to stay the night at the pole and offer each other comfort in the face of this new tragedy.


	8. May I have this Dance, oh Winter Angel?

**So, hey! It's me, I'm back. Sadly, my health isn't the best right now, and that's more or less my reason for disappearing. I'm feeling better, or at least well enough to start writing again, so here I am with a brand new chapter.**

 **And an idea. So many people seem to like these stories, so I'm gonna give you guys a chance to do something really cool. I'm hitting a bit of a block, but I don't want this story to collect too much dust, as it's already got a couple inches. Here's what I'm saying:**

 **Submit a story you think belongs in my little ROG Au, and I'll make it a chapter (and give you credit) as a bit of "filler" until the next official chapter! You can write about Death, Lady Life, Misery or anyone you'd like to do! For those with no writing talent, draw something! You can submit it to my tumblr, WedigosTallTales (with no caps), and I'll post them as fanart for this little thing. ^^**

 **Anyway, this is a bit different, and introduces a few new OCs of mine (most of which are spirits). Anyway, enjoy, review, and think about the filler idea. I look forward to what people may come up with. ^^**

 **New character's heights:**

 **Inkwell Black - 5 feet exactly (is not related to Pitch in any way)**

 **Jack O Lantern - 7 feet exactly**

It wasn't a secret that wherever the light went that it would find the darkness had beat it there. It was with that in mind that Pitch opened the door with caution, peering into the dark room before he lit the candle he'd been holding. Someone moved in the dark, and soon lavender eyes were peeking out from the depths of the shadowy room.

Pitch set the candle on the nightstand, giving the young spirit a smile. Inkwell yawned and stood up from the floor (he'd fallen off the bed again). He rubbed his eyes, under which dark bags had formed...and never went away. He crawled up onto his bed, watching the nightmare king light a few more candles. The light cast sinister shadows on the wall, but Inkwell only smiled at them.

He lifted a slender hand, leaning forward to gently touch one of the shadows. It rippled, then pulling away from the wall to slide over his hand in a cold greeting. He giggled, causing Pitch to glance over at him with a fond smile.

The young boy was like him, a dark spirit no one wanted to associate with. This little boy was a the embodiment of darkness, with his unnaturally pale skin, the dark bags underneath lavender eyes, the messy mop of curly black hair. Inkwell wasn't liked well by anyone.

Wherever fear went, darkness was sure to follow.

"Come on little Ink, it's night, you should be outside."

"Mm, but I sort of l-l-l-like it in h-h-here. No one yells a-a-at me..." Pitch knew of the boy's fears, and he also knew just how to sooth them.

"Well, if you go out tonight...we can go over to Jack O Lantern's Halloween party. Lord Death will be there, Misery as well...all the dark spirits will be going. Don't you wanna dress up and go?" He knelt down to be at eye level with the young spirit, watching him think it over. He'd been about to give up when the boy jumped off the bed, did a completely unnecessary flip, and landed light as a cat on the stone floor.

"Let me g-g-get my staff! And I want a-a-a whole bag of c-c-c-candy!" Pitch nodded and stood up, watching the spirit rush around his room and gather what he needed to go out. When the child stood in front of him, black sweater on and black scarf around his neck, and his precious staff held tightly in his blackened little hands.

"Lets g-go!"

Jack O Lantern was a frightful sight for those who had yet to meet him, tall and skinny and wearing a flaming pumpkin on his head. He stood at the gate of the pumpkin patch, dressed in a green pinstripe suit that had a little pumpkin pin on the lapel. His pumpkin mask grinned down at the party goers, the green flames dancing in and around his hollow eyes.

Jack Frost had never actually been to the Halloween spirit's annual party, but he had watched it from a distance before. Now he stood there, not quite dressed up - he had on a simple white cloak that had spider web inspired lace covering it over his usual clothes, and his staff had fake cobwebs adorning it's wooden shaft and crook - with Lord Death on his right side.

The King of the dead hadn't done anything for the occasion, but his grand scythe had a few fake spiders attached to it, just for the fun of it. He looked down at Jack with his blue-grey eyes and offered the winter child a warm smile.

Jack returned it with on of his own, then turned his attention back to Jack O Lantern. The old spirit had been down right terrifying in his youth, had even hunted humans and spirits alike. Now he stood there, ridiculously tall and just as scary as he'd once been. Now, however, instead of holding a long handled knife like he used to, he carried a bucket of candy.

"Lanny, my old friend. Looks like a good turn out tonight. Anyone I should avoid?" Death stopped before the skinny man (if you could call him that, Jack could see bones poking out from the spook's relatively clean suit). Lantern bent down, close enough so that Jack could see through the hollow eye holes of the pumpkin.

"Pitch Black is here with the little darkness incarnate boy. It might be best if your... _guests_ stayed away." Lantern's voice made Jack shiver with how cold and emotionless it sounded, how it rasped and sounded like rattling bones. The Halloween spirit turned his gaze towards the winter child, his eyes a flaming red color and the irises a bright, disturbingly neon green.

"Jack Frost. Welcome to my party, I do hope that you enjoy it. You might not make the next one." To anyone else, that would have been a threat. With Jack O Lantern, the infamous spirit killer and murderer, he was simply joking.

The guy had a morbid sense of humor and little to no other emotions, but after a few centuries of mellowing out in a pumpkin patch he had severely lessened his murderous desires. Which was fortunate for all those that flocked to his grand parties.

They moved on, with Jack sending one last glance at the tall man, feeling his frozen little heart skip a beat upon seeing Lantern still staring at him with those flaming eyes. The guardians hadn't seen the interaction, too busy commenting on everyone's costumes. Tooth had dressed up as a beautiful queen, Bunnymund had come as red robin hood (just with boomerangs), North was a yeti, and Sandy had come as a pilot fighter.

Hearing a familiar voice, Jack turned and spotted Misery. The tiny spirit was speaking with...oh...Pitch Black. The nightmare king was dressed in an old fashioned black suit with golden trim, his hair in a far neater style than usual, and a miniature top hat sat up on his head with a spider web shaped veil and an actual, nightmare sand created spider sitting atop the hat.

Misery had come in a - surprisingly - red cloak, the hood hiding everything but his glowing red eyes. Little red riding hood, Jack realized a moment later. A knight and Little Red Riding Hood. Amazing. And so uncreative.

Pitch chuckled at something Misery said, then gestured to someone standing next to him.

A young boy with pale skin and messy black hair stood next to the King, smiling warily at those around him. He held a staff in his hands, a twisted thing that glittered black in the light of flaming pumpkins and curved in a scoop like thing at the very top. Someone had strung a little bat charm around the scoop, which swung with every movement.

The boy looked familiar, but the winter child couldn't quite put his finger on _why_.

A hand on his shoulder startled Jack from his inner turmoil. He turned and found Jack O Lantern staring down at him from his impossible height. The ex-human hunter tilted his pumpkin covered head, then offered Jack a clawed hand, covered in a simple black glove.

"I just hate to bother the near living, but the music is about to start. Would you...care to dance with me? Your graceful way of moving is quite refreshing. That, and I believe most others have already dipped into the alcohol."

"I would usually say no, but I wanna have some fun." Jack forgot all about Pitch and the boy and took Lantern's hand with a grin. The Halloween spirit led the youth to the centre of the party, where a space had been cleared for dancing. Just as promised, music started to play, the haunting tone of violins and a piano, and someone - a young girl dressed all in white - started to sing.

Jack let himself be pulled into the dance, focusing on the way his feet almost never touched the ground, how Lantern chuckled in a most sinister way when Jack's chin bumped into his pokey ribs, how the older spirit's hands swallowed up Jack's own. How they moved in near sync, never stepping on each other's toes, never missing a single beat or turn or spin.

Jack peeked up to see those soul ripping eyes, and found them a soft orange with a leaf green center. He swore that if he could, he'd be blushing up a storm. Still, he didn't regret asking Death to take him and the other guardians to the Halloween party.

The dance ended all too fast, and Jack O Lantern had to return to the gates. He bid Jack a good night and walked slowly back to his post, long legs devouring the distance in long strides. Behind Jack, Death grinned and shook the winter child back to reality.

"I believe this means we'll be _very_ welcome next year. Come on, let's go get some caramel apples."

Pitch watched Jack O Lantern dance with Frost, a rather scarily graceful team. Inkwell stood next to him, clutching his staff and timidly talking with Misery and some autumn sprite. The nightmare king placed a hand on the young spirit's back, watching Lantern return to his post, leaving Jack standing next to the dancing space.

The next song was about to start, and a part of Pitch longed to join. From where he stood he could see the harps and the violins and the piano and the young singer. He so wanted to dance, to waltz across the space and spin and be surrounded by achingly familiar music.

He turned, hoping to ask either Misery or the sprite to dance, but said sprite had been dragged off into a dance by someone else, and, sadly, Misery had somehow coaxed Ink into a dance.

This left Pitch standing alone, feeling more than a little awkward.

"You seem a tad bit lonely. Would you care for a dance?" Lord Death stepped up from the shadows, scythe balance across his shoulder. He looked down at Pitch with those blue-grey eyes, brimming with only amusement and an almost sad understanding.

Pitch said nothing, only smirked and led the way to the dancing space, spotting Bunnymund and Tooth merrily dancing and Jack happily dancing with Sandy (though Pitch saw the looks he kept throwing over to Jack O Lantern, and when Frost wasn't looking, the Halloween spirit was staring at the young man.) And North stood on the sidelines, with none other than Lady Life.

"There's your counterpart. She's probably looking for you." He had said it offhandedly, not really thinking about whether or not it would affect them dancing. It wasn't quite a secret that Life and Death were close, and Pitch had no delusions that the King of the Dead wouldn't take back his offer to dance with the Lady in White.

"I see her. Come, I've heard that you are wonderful dancer. We can go speak with Lady Life after the dance - I asked you, I better damn well go through with it." And so Death led them both into a dance, and not long after pulled Life into it.

Pitch only snuck away to retrieve a sleepy Inkwell and make a hasty retreat from the party. And of he made a comment about a certain winter spirit to a certain Halloween spirit...well, he wouldn't exactly _deny_ it.

 **I just wanted to say that for the filler thing that you can definitely do a thing about Jack O Lantern's Halloween party, or about what happens with Inkwell and Pitch, or a thing where Jakc and Inkwell meet. Anything is good!**

 **As long as it stays appropriate, as I don't know the ages of my readers. Anyway, review and tell me how it was!**


	9. The Awakening of a Lantern

**A friend asked for something short for Jack-O-Lantern, I needed a break from the next major chapter, and so here we have the Prince of Spooky Scary Skeletons waking up from a nap. We also get to see what his actual face looks like in this, but it's not showing for long.**

 **Also: Jack-O-Lantern, unlike other spirits, has to go into long periods of sleep (almost like hibernation) when it's not October. He has a love hate relationship with it. :/**

 **I don't own anything but my own characters!**

 **Remember to review! I absolutely need the feedback!**

Darkness. It was all he knew. Smothering, endless darkness. He felt as if he should be suffocating, but he had no lungs that needed the air his head screamed for him to breathe. He pushed one skeletal hand upwards, pushing past rock and dirt and finally hitting the surface.

His other hand joined the first, then he himself rose up from the dark soil, rising up like some sort of zombie clawing it's way to the surface. He finally breathed, though he had no lungs to inflate with oxygen. Still, he breathed in the cold night air. Sitting still, in the middle of his pumpkin patch (no matter the time of year, his pumpkins continued to grow without pause), sometime in mid-July.

Jack-O-Lantern slowly stood up, listening to the crack and pop of bones and joints scraping together. His green pinstripe suit was clean with a snap of his fingers and a pop of orange light. He'd been asleep for a good long month, and it seemed by his undisturbed pumpkin cats that no one had tried to bother his realm.

He turned very slowly, stretching long arms above him as he surveyed his dark and dreary landscape.

During Halloween, this place would be lit up by bright lights and playful scares and laughter would be abundant. For now, in mid-July, it was simply a dark and creepy place.

It fit Lantern perfectly, and his pumpkin cats and ghostly ghouls could easily scare anyone away while he napped. A far colder breeze than before hit his back, causing him to turn to locate the source. Far above him, Jack Frost waved in greeting as he zipped past the infamous patch of land.

The Halloween spirit let loose a haunted howl in return, watching in satisfaction as the noise startled the much younger spirit. One of his ghouls slid up to st and beside him, a nightmarish thing that was more shadow than ghoul.

Jack-O-Lantern waved the thing off, watching pieces of it detach like smoke. It moved away with the sound of mournful weeping, soon leaving the old spirit in the dark and the biting chill.

He heaved a sigh, reaching up to pull off his grinning pumpkin and set it down on a nearby, table-like gourd.

Despite popular belief, he hadn't always been this murderous, psychotic vegetable wearing freak. He'd once been human, and his visage underneath his favorite accessory gave it truth.

Unbeknownst to the Halloween spirit, Jack had flown back over, suddenly finding himself wanting to talk to the older spirit. He froze (hahaha) in midair as the spooky man pulled off what Jack had _thought_ to be his head.

He meant to turn and leave, but something about being able to see those orange and green eyes stopped him, as did the smoky grey hair, the ashen skin and the black marks around his eyes.

Jack-O-Lantern looked up suddenly, but Jack had already dashed away upon realizing _he_ was the one being creepy now.

The Halloween spirit down in the pumpkin patch stood there for a long moment, a bit confused - he'd sworn he had heard someone gasp, though he supposed it could have been one of his more well hidden ghouls.

Shrugging it off, Jack-O-Lantern woke his minions with a banshee like shriek, his pumpkin already in place on his head once his little pets had surrounded him.

"Come on guys, October is close! We have to start preparations now if we're gonna be prepared for our best Halloween yet!" He cackled, causing his ghouls and cats to scream and howl in excitement.

As spiders crawled over the pumpkins, as rats skittered about underfoot, Jack-O-Lantern still couldn't shake the suspicion he had that someone had been in his realm earlier...when he'd taken off his headgear...

"Perhaps they'll come back for the party?" Ah well, it couldn't be helped. It had only been one day, but already Lantern found himself settling in his skeletal throne, eyes flailing shut for a quick nap.

(Spoilers: he wakes up two days later and is very angry.)


End file.
